Chapter 2409 - 320: The True Leader

When the carriage stopped at the entrance of the manor, the sky had already darkened.

The Marquis of Hastings did not wait for a servant to come and open the door; instead, he pushed open the carriage door himself and jumped out.

His boots landed heavily on the gravel path, splashing mud everywhere.

The horses pulling the carriage were startled by his action, snorting and lunging forward half a step, but thankfully the coachman held them tightly so no one was hurt.

The evening sunset was beautiful, but the Marquis of Hastings clearly had no interest in staying to admire it. He strode through the porch, into the main building, and as he passed through the foyer, he tossed his coat and gloves at a servant who approached him, without saying a word.

The new servant was so frightened by the Marquis’ expression that he stepped back half a step, his hand trembling, nearly dropping the coat.

The Marquis glanced at the roaring fire in the fireplace: "Arthur hasn’t left yet, has he?"

His tone was very harsh, as hard as a rock.

"Are you asking about Arthur... Sir Arthur?" the servant stammered in response. "The gentleman is... in the drawing room with the old lady and the young ladies, your Excellency."

The Marquis did not ask further. He softly responded with an "Hmm" and headed straight towards the drawing room.

The large door of the drawing room was ajar, and he could hear laughter coming from inside. It was Adelaide’s voice, even though she was already twenty-six years old, she still laughed heartily like a little girl; one could imagine her rocking back and forth with laughter from just outside the door.

"And then, and then?" Younger sister Adelaide kept asking: "You haven’t talked about that book yet; my God, I didn’t even know before that the Hastings Case Files were your work."

Second sister Sofia reproached her: "What’s there not to know? In London’s social circles, Arthur Sigma being Arthur Hastings is almost an open secret."

Third sister Selina glanced at her two sisters and turned the conversation back to eldest sister Flora: "Is the book good, Flora? I see you holding it every day; even when you go for a walk in the garden, you insist on taking it with you."

"Selina!" Flora’s voice sounded a bit weak, with a hint of embarrassed annoyance: "Why do you ask about everything?"

"I just want to know!"

Adelaide chimed in, causing a ruckus: "I want to know too! Flora, where did you hide that book today?"

"You guys..."

"Alright, alright." The voice of the old Marchioness interjected, with a smile yet retaining authority: "Don’t tease Flora anymore, let her drink her tea in peace."

"Mama!"

"Enough."

The laughter erupted again.

The Marquis of Hastings stood outside the door, listening to the laughter; his hand rested on the door handle, yet he hesitated to push it open.

He closed his eyes. The sunset shone through the corridor’s window, landing on him. The Scottish evening wind was biting, but he felt as though he was burning.

The decree he had inside the vest pocket had long since warmed to the point of being hot, like a branding iron, sizzling in his ears.

Compulsory medical examination.

Dr. Clark will execute it together with another reliable physician.

The results must be publicly reported.

He recalled his childhood.

At that time, he was not the Marquis of Hastings, not an Upper House Noble, just a little rascal who liked to run behind his sister Flora.

Back then Flora’s hair was always tied into two little braids, swinging as she ran. He could never catch up with her and could only shout from behind, "Flora, wait for me", "Flora, slow down".

She would always stop and wait for him.

Every time she would.

When the Old Marquis Hastings was still alive, once he watched Flora practicing the piano. Her fingers were worn out, yet she continued without a word.

Father watched from the doorway for a long time, then turned and sighed: "If only she were a boy."

He didn’t understand back then, so he asked his father why.

Father didn’t answer directly, only sighed: "To endure, to endure hardship, to have a spirit in your heart that cannot be suppressed. Such a person, if born on the battlefield, could lead troops. If in Parliament, could rally support."

Father paused, glancing at Flora again: "What a shame."

He didn’t take those words to heart at that time; he thought father was simply speaking offhandedly.

As he grew up and began encountering the things his father had dealt with – military matters, politics, family business, the open and covert struggles within the nobility...

He slowly understood the weight of his father’s words.

There are many who can endure, who can suffer hardships, but very few whose spirit remains unyielding no matter how much it is pressed.

Father saw it; he always knew what kind of person Flora was.

But father was no longer there.

He thought of his father’s accomplishments: the American War of Independence, Commander of the Scottish garrison, Master of Ordnance, Governor of India, Gurkha War, conquest of Maratha...

Father’s name was written into history books, engraved in places that would never be forgotten.

And him?

He couldn’t even protect his own sister.

The Marquis of Hastings stood outside the door, trembling as he listened to the laughter inside.

The qualities father valued – strength, endurance, hardship – Flora had them all.

But he, the heir in whom his father placed great hopes, could not even protect the person forged by those qualities.

If father was watching from above, what would he think of him?

He thought of Flora as a child, of her running behind him with braids swinging, of her eyes curving into crescent moons when she laughed, thought of her...